Log Date 06302003: There Has Been a Setback
by sincerelymendacious
Summary: Chloe wakes to find her research mysteriously missing. Her day only gets more irritating from there.


This story was inspired by a picture drawn by psychonauttle on tumblr. Unfortunately I cannot link it here, but their tumblr is worth looking up, as their art is lovely!

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 _This day is proving to be a thoroughly trying one_ , Chloe thought as she stood on her tip toes in front of the supply closet.

The difficulty had begun early this morning, when she had awoken to find her research journal (a large graph paper pad that contained all of her notes, schematics, plans, and idle doodles) missing. Usually it was on her bunk, either secured underneath her pillow or on her chest, if she happened to fall asleep while working late into the night. She hadn't been concerned at first, assuming that it had fallen on the floor or had been kicked under the bed. But it hadn't been on the floor, and there had been nothing under the bed except for a stack of comic books. An exhaustive search of the cabin yielded nothing, not the journal itself or any clue as to its whereabouts.

Phoebe had been generous enough to aid Chloe in her endeavor, though her assistance had mostly consisted of suggestions of where to look ("Did you check under the mattress? How about your suitcase? Maybe it's on the windowsill?"). When all of the possible locations had been inspected Phoebe had told her to think back to where she had last seen the pad.

"In my bed," had been Chloe's immediate response.

"Are you sure?" Phoebe had asked. "Like, really sure? _"_

Up until that point, Chloe had been pretty certain that the last time she remembered seeing the journal had been flat on her mattress as she added more detail to her antenna blueprint. But something about Phoebe's tone, the way she had put extra emphasis on the word 'sure' had Chloe doubting her own memories of the previous night. Was it some sort of Earthling-communication quirk that she did not yet understand? Chloe hadn't had time to dwell on it, as finding her research took precedence over this newly-discovered idiosyncrasy of human language.

In any case, it had been enough to spur her into investigating the locations she had visited yesterday, more to appease to nagging feeling that she could have left the journal outside than out of any belief she actually had. She climbed up onto the roof of the Main Lodge, looked underneath the Coach's desk as he napped, had made the trek out to the farthest part of the G.P.C. area, just before the edge of the forest. The journal was nowhere to be found in any of these places, and by mid-morning Chloe had run out of places to look.

The fact that she had not found her research implied that she had not actually left it anywhere, and therefore it had been taken and intentionally hidden, a disheartening thought. She did not like to think that one of her bunkmates could have stolen it- though they occasionally exhibited strange, illogical behaviors, she had not believed that any of them would act so maliciously towards her, especially since she could not recall giving a reason for anyone to do so. Perhaps one of the boys had snuck in and taken it? But that, again, begged the question: Why? As far as she knew none of her campmates had any interest in any of the data the journal contained, and she had thought that she was on good terms with all of them. Perhaps not. Perhaps Nils was still bitter about her rejection of his romantic overtures. Maybe Crystal had been more offended than she had let on when Chloe had pointed out how unusually red and watery her eyes had been early one morning last week. It could have finally dawned on Vernon Tripe how tiresome she found him and his endless chattering.

These thoughts had fluttered across her mind like the blue birds often seen flying around the camp, all of them moving too fast for her to take hold of and examine. It was impossible, she had thought as she followed the path back to the Main Lodge, for her to keep searching in the state she was in- she'd been looking for hours at that point and the anxiety that had been bubbling up inside of her was affecting her mental state negatively. It was time to do something else for a while, and the most productive thing to do would be to copy down as much information as she could remember from her notes. That way, if the original journal turned out to be irretrievably lost, she'd still have a small foundation with which to build the second edition of her research upon.

It seemed even that small comfort was barred to her. Chloe sighed in frustration, her breath briefly fogging up her helmet and blurring her view of the paperless tray in front of her. She had not expected the Main Lodge to provide her with another notebook, but she had not thought that a few sheets of loose, blank drawing paper would be hoping for too much. Apparently she had been incorrect on that account.

She craned her neck upward, hoping to see a stack of paper on one of the higher shelves. Her small size, though useful in many situations, did her no favors at this moment, and the contents of the shelves above her were obscured from view. This was a problem easily solved by utilizing her levitation ball, so she called it (not as quickly as she usually did, she couldn't help but note) and bounced up and down a few times, scrutinizing each shelve as best she could in the short time allotted to her. The third shelf from the top contained a box full of miscellaneous craft supplies and a broken hole-puncher, the second shelf a few boxes of pens, staples, and some broken crayons, and the top shelf had nothing but dust and what may have once been somebody's sandwich.

Chef Cruller noticed what she was up to on the fourth bounce. "Hey!" he squawked, waving his spatula in her direction. "Knock it off! You're jostlin' my dogs!" The bubble popped when Chloe came down, the impact of her feet on the hard wooden floor causing her teeth to rattle. She swallowed down a pained grunt and looked toward the grill. Chef Cruller had already turned back to his hot-dogs, using his spatula to poke at them while a concerning amount of black smoke billowed up into his face.

Chloe walked over to him, not particularly enjoying the smell of burning meat (thank goodness she had her helmet to protect her from the worst of the fumes). "Apologies, Grillmaster," she began. "I did not mean to disturb your…" She cast a quick glance at the rapidly blackening hot-dogs sizzling away on the grill. "…hot-dogs. I was merely looking for some paper."

Chef Cruller made a noise that could have been either a cough or a grunt of acknowledgement. Chloe paused a moment, waiting for him to look at her, and then, when she realized that he had probably forgotten she was there, spoke up. "There wasn't any paper in the supply closet." Chef Cruller gave no indication that he had heard her, so she raised her voice a little more. "It is imperative that I acquire some paper. Do you know where I could procure some?"

"What's- huh?" Ford looked out into the lodge, to the left, and then the right, and then finally down at her. He stared at her as though spotting her for the first time. "What'd ya say?" he asked, cupping the back of his ear and leaning forward.

"Paper!" Chloe repeated loudly. "I require a few sheets of your flat Earth-pulp to write upon."

"Did ya check the supply closet?"

Chloe bit back the first irritated response that came to her lips. She knew that when Earthlings became advanced in age their minds and bodies began to deteriorate, sometimes to the point where they were shuttled off and secluded in large care facilities. The father of the man who called himself Chloe's dad was institutionalized in one of these facilities, and he was at least a decade younger than Chef Cruller. If she wanted to get anywhere with him, she needed to be patient. "I have already inspected the supply closet," she said slowly and clearly. "There was none to be found."

"Hm." Ford pressed down on one of the hot-dogs with the back of his spatula. "Might be some in the back. Get ya some once the dogs are finished."

The 'dogs' looked like they would give anyone who bit into them a mouthful of ash. "Can you provide an estimate of when that will be?"

"Estimate?" Ford sounded shocked that she would ask such a thing. "They'll be done when they're done," he said sharply, jabbing his spatula at her. "Good dogs take time to cook. Can't just throw them on the grill and expect instant quality."

"I see," Chloe sighed, realizing that Chef Cruller was not likely to be going anywhere anytime soon. "I'll return later."

"Might wanna try asking Agent Nein," Ford suggested. He slid his spatula under one of the hot dogs and flipped it over. "That guy's always got piles of paper that he never does anything with."

That did not sound like a bad idea, though it irritated Chloe that she should have to go so far out of her way to obtain something that would have been abundant on any other day. She glanced around the Main Lodge, hoping to see a loose sheet on a table or the floor. No such luck. "The suggestion is noted," she said. "I will proceed immediately to Agent Nein's lab."

"Alright then," Ford said dismissively, waving her off as he sprayed more cooking spray onto the grill.

Chloe pushed the doors open with so much force that they slammed into the wall. She set off quickly towards the G.P.C., her annoyance seeming to give her short legs extra speed. Out of paper on the day that her journal went missing- she could almost believe that the universe itself was conspiring to put a halt to her work. She stepped off the path and cut across the grass on her way to the G.P.C, stomping heavily on the dirt, fists clenched tightly as she walked.

Frustration boiled up in the pit of her stomach, rising up within her like the smoke from Ford's grill. So far, today had been complete disaster. The morning she should have spent gathering the materials and tools she would need to build her antenna had instead been wasted fruitlessly searching for her journal. And now she was making a second trek out to the G.P.C., wasting even more time and setting her work back even further. Even if Agent Nein handed her an exact replica of the original graph paper pad, she'd probably have to spend an indeterminate amount of time re-writing her notes and re-drawing all of her designs. Her original journal had been so detailed, nearly three-quarters of the pages within it full. Could she recall all that it had contained? What if she lost something vital to her mission?

Chloe stopped dead in her tracks, the full scale of the loss hitting her harder than the asteroid that had killed the original inhabitants of this planet. All those hours spent copying down her observations, working out her theories, all the painstaking effort that had been put into her schematics, even the fun she had had re-creating the ideas she'd had of her home planet onto paper- all of it was gone, due to her own carelessness. _Or, more likely, because someone decided to just take it from you,_ a small, bitter voice in her mind reminded her.

A harsh pain clawed at her chest, made it difficult for her to breathe, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, one or two escaping as she attempted to blink them back. Chloe was no stranger to setbacks- research of this magnitude was bound to have them- and was used to the skepticism and general negativity from the locals back at her usual base of operations. So why such a severe physiological reaction now? Why this hurt, why this feeling of betrayal? As she sniffed and clutched at her shirt, she thought over her circumstances and came to this conclusion: being at this camp was the closest that Chloe had ever come to fitting in anywhere, and as such, any harm done to her by one of her peers here would affect her more than if it had been done by someone back in the town she usually resided in. Her fellow campers were, with one potential exception, natives of this planet, but they were more similar to her than any other beings she had previously encountered. Their extrasensory abilities were nearly identical to her own, and all of them had given her valuable insights into human culture that would no doubt be useful to her. She had even established friendly relations with some of them, and would remember them fondly once she returned back to her home planet should they choose not to join her on her ship.

But her journal's disappearance had shaken her, made her feel unsafe and uncertain in this camp, and highlighted how little she understood and how much of an outsider she would always be on this planet.

Acknowledging this conclusion provided clarity for why this incident was making her so upset, but it did little to improve her mood. These feelings and tears, tempting as it was to wallow in them for a little while, did her little good in the long run. What she needed to do, if the journal was truly lost, was throw herself into her work, get down as much as she could remember of her notes and designs onto paper, and then continue on from where she had left off. She would also strive to be more careful with the next copy and become more wary of her surroundings and the people who surrounded her, as it appeared that she could not trust her peers as much as she had first thought.

Chloe took a breath, held it, and then quickly lifted her helmet up over her head. She squinted, her eyes unguarded against this planet's sun, tucking her helmet under her arm as she wiped the tears off of her face. The wetness left an unpleasant sensation on her skin, and she was forced to wipe the residue off on her shirt, because in her haste to find her journal she had not taken any of her usual essentials with her. That task done, she put her helmet back where it belonged and released the breath she held, taking in large gulps of air.

She took a step forward to continue on her way but paused, her attention caught by a log lying not too far from where she stood. There wasn't anything special about the log itself, and it would have blended in with the rest of the foliage had there not been what looked like two sheets of paper and a box of crayons resting on it. One of the pieces had already been used, a black shape that Chloe could not identify taking up the majority of the space, but the other one seemed to be blank. Chloe changed course, darting over to the log before the wind could blow the paper away or an avian creature snatched it up. A single piece of paper was not anywhere near enough to copy down a fraction of what the journal had contained even if she used the front and the back, but it would be good enough to get her started, and the work would clear her mind of all of the despairing and demoralizing emotions clouding it.

She was a little dismayed to find that what had appeared to be two sheets of paper from a distance was actually one long piece of a paper towel. She disregarded the dismay upon observing the drawing on the left half of the towel; a depiction of a mammalian quadruped the inhabitants of this planet commonly referred to as a cat. The cat was well-drawn (though it appeared to be missing part of an ear- was that an error or had it been intentional?), colored black from head to about mid-torso, where the shading abruptly ended, due to the artist suddenly abandoning the work. The paper towel looked to be an adequate substitution for drawing paper and upon closer inspection Chloe noticed that the artist had placed some cardboard underneath the towel to protect it from the log's rough, uneven surface. Whoever had left the picture behind was resourceful, an attribute that Chloe admired.

She plopped down onto her knees in front of the log, the blank half of the paper towel before her. Instantly her hand went to her pocket, where, on any other day, there would be at least one pencil within it. Today, however, the pocket was empty. Chloe glanced around and picked up a dark blue crayon that was similar in color to her favorite drafting pencil. Naturally, she preferred the finer tip of pencil for drafting purposes, but, as the Earth phrase went, beggars could not be choosers.

Holding the paper towel in place with one hand, she drew the other downward, but something occurred to her just before her crayon hit the paper, and she let it hover there. The camper who had set this up might not have actually abandoned their station- for all that Chloe knew they may have gotten up to go to the restroom or to obtain some refreshments. Chloe wondered how that camper would feel if they returned to find half of their paper gone. Using her own experience this morning as a guideline, she mentally ran through the emotions the camper may feel- surprise would be the first, followed by quickly by annoyance once a quick search confirmed that their drawing materials were in fact, gone. Next could be sadness or anger, depending on the artist's temperament. And then they would have to set off to find more paper, just like Chloe had, because the Main Lodge was out. Or maybe they would just shrug their shoulders the way humans often did and move on after completing their cat.

Chloe let her hand linger over the paper a moment, and then sighed, putting the crayon down. She could not, in good conscience, procure this paper for her own use. Knowing that there was a chance that one of her fellow campers had stolen from her had caused Chloe a significant amount of distress, and it would do nobody any good if she were to inflict that pain on another living being. In addition to that, she was, in a sense, a representative of her people, and it would be utterly foolish to make a bad impression before communications between Earth and her home planet had even been established.

"You don't have to leave."

The words were spoken just as Chloe moved to stand up. Chloe snapped her head to the right and barely stopped herself from jumping in surprise. There sat Milka Phage, gazing at her quietly with her knees tucked under her, looking as though she had been sitting there the entire time. Chloe suddenly recalled that this specimen's specialty was invisibility, and realized that she probably had been. " Greetings, Milka," Chloe said as she righted herself, adjusting her helmet slightly. "Apologies for the intrusion." She looked down guiltily at the paper she had been on the verge of stealing. "And for using your tools without your permission."

"It's fine." Milka shrugged (what a versatile human gesture! The lost journal had contained a long list of instances in which Chloe had seen it used) and folded the towel over, covering her drawing. "There isn't any paper left in the supply closet, so I'm using this."

"A clever improvisation," Chloe said.

"Heh, thanks." Milka tore the towel, ripping it delicately and swiftly. "I came out here because Ford stared making hot dogs." She wrinkled her nose a little. "I don't like hot dogs. Even just smelling them gives me a headache." Chloe nodded in sympathy, as she herself was sensitive to certain food products from this planet. Milka slid the blank half of the towel over to Chloe's side of the log. "Here, you can use this."

Chloe looked down at the paper, tracing her finger along its slightly ragged edge. After such a long day of setbacks and suspicions, this show of kindness had left her momentarily speechless. "I'm very grateful for this," she said once her vocal chords resumed functioning. "But won't it hinder your artistic efforts?"

"Nah," Milka replied, setting the crayons between them. "I took a lot off the roll because I wasn't sure how much paper I would need. But I'm pretty much done." She shrugged again. Chloe could not help but notice that the way Milka shrugged ran counter to the previous occurrences in which she had seen the gesture. Milka's shrugs were quick and sure, rather than slow and questioning. It was almost like she was trying to force some irritating and inconsequential thing off of her shoulders. Interesting. Chloe would have to remember to write that down in the new edition of her research. "You can have the rest," Milka offered.

Chloe could see no reason not to accept Milka's offer after that explanation, so she settled herself back down, expressing her most sincere thanks. "If you should ever decide to leave Earth, there will be a place for you aboard my ship," she said as she picked the blue crayon back up. "And for Elton as well, if you wish."

"Rad," Milka replied.

The two then turned their attention to their respective towels, with only the scrape of their crayons on the paper filling the air between them. The lack of speech did not make Chloe the least bit uncomfortable, if anything it made it much easier for her to focus on drawing the preliminary schematics for her ship's reactor core, one of the most important blueprint's her journal had contained. She felt her mood lighten with every line drawn, and was pleased to find the details of the core coming back to her quicker than she had expected.

She worked for a good five minutes, hunching over the paper towel as she sketched out the reactor core's basic structure. Her hand began to hurt, so she stopped, not wanting to make an irreversible error due to her weak fingers becoming clumsy and tired. She put the crayon down and flexed her fingers, opening and closing her palm. While the slight pain in her hand abated, her gaze drifted over to her quiet companion's picture, which seemed to nearly be done. Milka had finished coloring the cat and was now lazily filling in the ground underneath with a bright, springy green shade. The cat itself was what most humans would consider visually appealing, but Chloe noticed that some details- the partially missing ear, the little streaks of white at the muzzle- that made the cat appear older and wiser than one would have thought at first glance.

Curiously, Chloe snuck a look at the artist. Milka was sitting with her legs crossed, her chin resting on one hand while the other colored. The look on her face was a mystery to Chloe, the expression too neutral to decipher as a whole. Chloe took it apart piece by piece, like she would with an intriguing gadget, to see if the parts of Milka's face could help her interpret the other girl's current emotions. Not happy, as her mouth was set in too straight a line for that (which, as a result, also ruled out sad). Bored would probably be incorrect as well, for her eyes were locked onto the page and following the movement of her crayon closely, which signaled engagement with the activity. The typical signs of frustration, such as furrowed brows, reddened cheeks, clenched jaw, were absent so the task that Milka had set herself to was not causing her any difficulty. If Chloe had to make an educated guess based on the evidence before her, she'd say that Milka was relaxed, interested enough in her endeavor to continue doing it but not so invested that she couldn't set it aside if she needed to.

Drawing the cat had been a leisurely activity for Milka, meant to relieve stress and provide temporary entertainment. A contrast to the schematics Chloe had been bent over a moment ago. Chloe did not look down on Milka or her artwork for that, for she herself was prone to doodling in the margins of her page whenever a complication had her stumped or her mental resources were drained. It only furthered Chloe's curiosity regarding Milka, made her wonder what the other girl would consider work if this was what she did for fun. Of all the children in this camp, Milka was the one she had compiled the least amount of data on, as it was difficult to observe a specimen that preferred to remain unseen and unheard. _Perhaps,_ Chloe thought _, I should be taking this opportunity to record some notes- discreetly, of course._

As though overhearing her thoughts (not an outlandish occurrence in a camp full of psychic children) Milka glanced up from her drawing and directed her gaze at Chloe. She did not adjust her posture or even turn her head to face Chloe, merely slid her eyes to the right, continuing to color the grass in on her picture. There was neither anger nor accusation in her eyes, which seemed to mean that, if she was aware of what Chloe had been doing, she wasn't bothered by it. However, Chloe knew from personal experience that staring openly at a person was considered rude by the natives, and it would hardly due for her to offend someone who had shown her such generosity. "Apologies," Chloe said, looking away from Milka and down at the drawing. "Your artwork is very appealing."

"Heh, thanks," Milka replied, the barest hint of a smile on her face.

Milka appeared content to let the matter drop there, but since Chloe had brought the subject up, she figured that she may as well take the opportunity to inquire about some of the odd details she noticed on the picture. "I could not help but observe that the feline depicted in that piece appears to be missing a part of its left ear. Are there variants of that particular mammal that have uneven ears, or this one meant to be defective?"

"He lost it in a fight," Milka said plainly, "before I was born. He can hear just fine though."

This cat must be the pet that Milka had mentioned on Campster. "I see. He must be among the strongest of his species."

"Yeah, he's pretty tough," Milka said, setting down her green crayon now that the grass had been fully shaded in. "He lived on the streets before my mom took him in." She picked a light blue crayon out of the box. "His name is Shadow but mom calls him Old Man, cuz he's at least eight years old."

"Interesting." Chloe did not know much about cats, and had not had all that much interaction with mammals of any sort. The woman who called herself Chloe's mom was sensitive to pet dander, and thus could not keep a mammal in the house. Chloe was alright with that, as an animal native to Earth could not be taken aboard a ship, and forming a bond with one would be pointless.

That wasn't to say that she did not find inter-species friendships on Earth worthy of study. "I've heard that some Earthlings with psychic abilities are able to communicate with non-human organisms," Chloe said as she watched Milka outline a cloud above the cat's head. "Is this the case with you and Shadow?"

"Nah," Milka said, finishing one cloud and starting on another. "But he can see me when I'm invisible." She tapped her chin with the crayon. "Like, one time I was watching T.V. with my mom, but I was invisible because it was super late and I wasn't supposed to be up. And also because Mom doesn't like me sitting too close to her on the couch." She glanced at Chloe to make sure her story was being followed, continuing at Chloe's nod. "Well, he came in the room and immediately looked right at me, and then he jumped on the couch and got in my lap." A short laugh escaped between her lips. "My mom freaked out because it looked like he was just floating on the couch. Then she realized I was there and…" Milka trailed off, making an odd flapping motion with her hand, like she was batting the memory away.

Chloe remained silent for a second, unsure of how she was supposed to react. Milka's tone implied that the anecdote was meant to be humorous, but Chloe couldn't quite bring herself to laugh. Something about the story had been off, something that she was not yet educated enough to identify, but made her uncomfortable all the same. Usually in this sort of situation Chloe found that the best course of action was to ignore it (even if she wanted to inquire further) and change the subject. "Do you miss him?"

"Yeah, I do," The words were spoken so blandly that Chloe would have questioned their veracity had Milka's eyes not softened. "I wasn't allowed to take him with me. I thought about sneaking him in anyway but I didn't, because Mom would miss him too much." Having deemed two clouds enough, Milka put her crayon down and picked up her drawing, almost complete except for the uncolored sky. She scrutinized it for a second. "I think I'll send this to her," she said, setting the drawing back down. "Maybe." She pointed at the blueprint on Chloe's side. "So what do you got there?"

"This is my fusion reactor core design," Chloe answered as Milka scooted over to get a better look.

"Oh, for your ship?" Milka said, examining the sketch on the paper towel.

"Affirmative. It's not yet complete, of course." She held up the dark blue crayon. "I believe I will save the finer details for when I have a pencil, but this is an adequate start."

Milka nodded. "So," she said, tapping the center of the core. "What's it do?"

"It's the power source of the ship," Chloe replied. She began pointing out various parts of the core, explaining how each of them functioned in highly technical language. Milka remained mostly silent throughout, allowing Chloe to talk without interrupting to complain about not understanding or ask unnecessary questions. "It's essentially a nuclear-powered battery," she concluded, summarizing the core's purpose as simply as she could.

"Huh. That makes sense. You can't exactly stop for gas out in outer space," Milka said, her curiosity satisfied. "Are you going to design all the parts of your ship?"

Chloe nodded. "I am. I attempted to appeal to NASA for aid, but their response was dismissive and patronizing."

"Well, you're probably better off without them anyway. Since you're an alien and all." She shrugged again. "So what else have you got designed?"

In the span of a second Chloe's face brightened (because she had many blueprints and very much enjoyed showing them to interested parties) and then dimmed (because those blueprints had all been contained in her journal, which had vanished). She tilted her head down, her eyes on her knees. "Nothing else at the moment," she said, her voice soft, as though making the admission too loudly would cause her additional stress. "I've lost all of my research, I'm afraid."

"Lost it?" Milka's tone sounded questioning, and when Chloe looked up she found the other girl regarding her with suspicion. How curious. Did Milka think that she was lying?

If only that were so. "I awoke this morning to find my research missing from my bunk." From there, the entire story poured out, with Chloe giving a detailed run-through of the morning's events, beginning with her initial search of the girl's cabin and ending with her discovery of Milka's improvised art station. Again, Milka was silent as she spoke, her eyes fixed on Chloe's face and no doubt absorbing every word.

"I thought," Milka said once Chloe had finished her story, "that you needed paper because you filled your pad up. I didn't know it was gone. I'm sorry."

Chloe tried to shrug in the manner she had seen Milka do multiple times. It felt more like a hunching of her shoulders, and did little to alleviate her hurt at the research journal's loss. "It is a setback, for certain. These things happen. I will merely have to start over." She glanced over at the half-finished blueprint. "I'm optimistic that Agent Nein will lend me enough paper to hold me over until I can obtain a new pad."

"Or you and me can get it back from whoever stole it," Milka said casually.

Chloe's head snapped back towards Milka. "What makes you say that?" she asked, surprised that Milka would come to that conclusion so quickly, especially without any evidence.

"You're wouldn't just leave something that important behind," Milka said, pointing at Chloe with her crayon. "Someone had to have taken it."

Milka's confidence had a somewhat vindicating effect, as Chloe had known all along that she wouldn't be so absent-minded with an item so essential to her mission. Still, she wasn't particularly enthused about the fact that there could be no doubt that someone at this camp had done her intentional harm. Now that it had been spoken aloud, she knew that she would have to find out who that someone was, a rather daunting task. "Theft being involved with my journal's disappearance did cross my mind at points. But what I could not fathom was who would do such a thing."

"Kitty and Franke," was Milka's immediate response.

Chloe blinked, and furrowed her brows, doubtful of the accusation despite how certain Milka had sounded while making it. While Chloe could not say she was close with either girl, she also couldn't say there was any animosity between them either. Then again, it would be difficult to tell, as Kitty Bubai's words often conveyed one idea while her face expressed another. "Did you witness one of them behaving suspiciously?" Chloe inquired.

"No. But I don't need to," Milka replied, an undercurrent of venom in her tone. "I know what they're like."

"But you do not have any evidence that they were the ones behind this." Chloe shook her head. "There isn't any hostility between us, so I do not believe that either of them would be motivated to do such a thing."

"Those hoes don't need a motive," Milka countered. "They just like to be mean to anyone who seems weak." A pause, and then, "no offense."

"None taken," Chloe said. She was a little baffled by the fact that Milka had called Kitty and Franke 'hoes' (there were many references to such women in Chloe's favorite genre of Earth music but none of those songs had described Kitty or Franke), but chose not to question Milka's choice of words at that moment. Instead she briefly analyzed what she knew of the two girl's behavior patterns and then came to conclusion that it likely was not them. "The extravagantly dressed leader of the two prefers to use more psychological methods to inflict harm on her victims. Coming into my bunk and stealing my research would be getting her hands too dirty. And the other one is of sub-par intelligence and would be more inclined to go after my helmet or my ship model were she to attempt to rob me."

"Hmm. That's a good point," Milka conceded, scratching her head. "Kitty could have hypnotized some dunce into doing her dirty work for her."

"That does fit in with her modus operandi," Chloe admitted, flipping her paper towel over to the blank side. "However, I would prefer not to assume she had anything to do with it until we've safely ruled everyone else out." She picked up her crayon and drew two lines going down and a few lines across. She labeled one column of the table 'suspect' and the other as 'motive.' "Now who else should we look into…?"

From there, the two discussed the possibility of each camper being the culprit. Crystal, Clem, J.T., Chops, Dogen, Phoebe, Quentin, Lili, Elka, and Mikhail were ruled out, their names not even written down on the table, as none of them had either the temperament or the motive to snatch Chloe's journal from right under her helmet. Chloe briefly suggested Elton as a potential culprit. "A jest," she said quickly upon receiving a glare in return for her attempt at lightening up the mood.

That left Vernon, Kitty, Franke, Bobby, Benny, Nils and Maloof. A third column labeled 'method' was added to the table after these names had been written down, the reason for this being that while some of the aforementioned campers may have had a motive, not all of them would have had the resources to carry out a theft of this magnitude. Vernon Tripe was ruled out because both Milka and Chloe agreed that he would not be able to stop himself from narrating his crime long enough to commit it. Maloof was also exonerated for a similar reason. He was smaller and sneakier than Vernon, and Chloe rejecting him as a member of her crew gave him motive, but his weak disposition made it improbable that he would be able to do such a thing on his own. "And Mikhail wouldn't steal for him," Milka pointed out, "even if Maloof was really, really mad at you."

"No, he would not," Chloe agreed, putting an 'X' through the method column across from Maloof's name. "He would be more likely to pick me up and throw me some distance were Maloof to have him wreck vengeance on me."

Bobby Zilch was brought up, discussed for a short time, and then crossed off, with Chloe adamantly defending his innocence. "However," she said as she put a horizontal line through all three of Bobby's columns. "I've noticed that his cohort does not appear all that fond of me." Benny Fidelo was not strong or smart, but he could scuttle about quietly like the rats he so resembled, and his morals were questionable enough that petty thievery was not something he would consider beneath him.

"He's also someone that would definitely steal for Kitty," Milka added, unwilling to abandon the idea that Kitty was behind this incident in some way. "I've seen him trying to get in with Kitty and Franke before."

It appeared that Benny Fidelo was the prime suspect, but a strange sound in the distance distracted both girls before they could explore the matter further, a noise that could have been the cries of a dying animal. Chloe and Milka looked up and saw two figures approaching them, one of them an adult and the other a mass of orange-red tumors atop a gangly boy. "What's Bobby doing with Agent Nein?" Milka asked as the odd duo came toward them. "Is he trying to bully the teachers now? That's stupid."

It certainly appeared that way, with Bobby screaming insults and gesticulating wildly at Agent Nein, who seemed to be doing his best to ignore him, moving as fast as one could without breaking into a jog. There was something tucked into his arm, a green notepad bound with spirals at the top.

Just like her journal.

Chloe shot to her feet and ran over to them, sprinting so fast that she nearly slid onto her backside as she skidded to a stop. "Agent Nein!" she shouted, panting heavily from exertion (her body was not accustomed to the level of gravity here on Earth, which hindered her physical abilities). "What is…what is that you have there?" She bent forward, hands on her knees and heart hammering in her chest as she caught her breath.

"He's got your notes and junk!" Bobby exclaimed, incensed on her behalf. He pointed up at Agent Nein accusingly. "He stole them!"

Agent Nein winced, as though the frequency of Bobby's voice caused him physical pain. "I most certainly did not steal from Cadet Barge," he responded calmly (though Chloe did not miss the tension in his jaw, or the way his mouth twisted in disgust). "One of the crows was trying to use it as nesting material near the G.P.C.," he explained, stepping forward to put some distance between himself and Bobby. "Recognizing it as yours, I retrieved it and set out to return it to you."

"Nu-uh! I saw you looking at it!" Bobby yelled, walking up and snatching the journal away from Agent Nein, who let him take it. "H-here you go, Chloe," he said, speaking as softly as he could as he handed the pad over. Chloe accepted it, speechless with relief and almost unable to believe that all the work she'd thought was lost was back in her hands.

"I was only looking through it out of curiosity, Cadet Zilch," Sasha said, looking down at his hand as though the brief contact with Bobby's had left behind nasty residue. "Cadet Barge's blueprints are very nicely drawn."

"How'd her notes end up in a bird's nest?" Milka, who had silently walked up, asked. Her sudden approach gave Bobby a start, and he glared at her angrily. Milka met his glare with indifference.

"That I do not know. Perhaps one of the crows flew into the cabin and took it." Sasha then turned abruptly on his heel and walked back towards the G.P.C., his one good deed for the day done.

"I'm just saying," Milka said, her gaze never leaving Bobby's sweaty, reddened face, "that it's kind of weird that her notebook ended up all the way out there."

"You accusin' me of something, Phage?" Bobby said, his teeth grinding together in a manner that could not have been good for the organisms that lived between them.

"I'm just saying, that's all."

"Well, let me just say this," Bobby said, punching his fist into his open palm. "You keep sayin' stuff like that and there's gonna be spilled Milka all over the ground!"

Milka raised an eyebrow, the threat not unnerving her one bit. "That doesn't even mean anything."

"It means that I will-" Bobby cut himself off, glancing nervously down at Chloe. "Hmph, whatever. Chole, I'm gonna go beat up the stupid bird that took that from you."

Up until that point Chloe had been too happy to have her research back to really notice the exchange going on in front of her. She'd marveled at how lucky she had been to get it back at all, with some tears on the cover being the only readily apparent damage, and at this moment didn't really care how or why it had ended up in a nest near the G.P.C. Bobby's plan of action brought her back to herself, and she grabbed him by the arm to stop him from walking off. "Not necessary, Bobby," she said, pulling him back to where he had previously stood. "There's no need to direct violence at a bird, as it's only natural that it would want nesting material."

Bobby made a choked noise in the back of his throat, but did not attempt to argue with Chloe. Satisfied, she turned to Milka. "My gratitude at your kindness cannot be adequately expressed. If you ever require the aid of a vastly superior civilization, just let me know."

"Cool, thanks," Milka said, offering up the paper towel Chloe had drawn her blueprint on. "You still want this?"

"Yes, actually," Chloe said, taking the blueprint. "This incident has made me realize the importance of having multiple copies of one's work." Chloe glanced up, noting the position of the sun in the sky. "I will go back to the Main Lodge and see if Chef Cruller has replenished the paper supply." She looked over at Bobby. "Will you be accompanying me?"

"Y-yeah!" Bobby answered, his voice cracking a little.

"Very good." She turned back to Milka. "Later tonight, I can show you all of my other blueprints, if you would still like to see them."

"Yeah, sure," Milka replied. "Well, see you then." And with that, she vanished from sight.


End file.
